


pools of sorrow, waves of joy

by Lies_Unfurl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Dean, Crying Dean, Gentle Castiel, Kissing, Knotting, M/M, Making Out, Mpreg, Multi, Past Character Death, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 12, Rimming, There's a little bit of plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Castiel, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lies_Unfurl/pseuds/Lies_Unfurl
Summary: While searching the multiverse for answers, Dean meets a version of himself and Castiel who have their shit figured out. They give him what he needs, and remind him what he never had.





	pools of sorrow, waves of joy

“So you’re like the man,” Dean says slowly, nodding at Castiel. “And… you’re the chick?”

This other version of himself rolls his eyes. Dean glares.

“Do they not have same-sex couples where you come from?” Castiel asks, and damn it, Dean can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or sincere. 

He’s met a lot of Castiels since he and Sam began travelling across the multiverse, looking for their mother, looking for a way to bring Cas back. This one reminds him more of his own Cas than any of the others they’ve met – the brainwashed warriors of God, the stoners, the professional beekeeper who lived by himself in a cottage in the woods.

There’s a strength about this Castiel. An aura like crackling lightning, the same as his angel had. 

Dean has been too busy to really mourn. In the months since Castiel’s death, since Jack found he couldn’t open portals on his own or track dead angels, since he and Sam found the spell to walk between worlds – there’s been too much to do. He leaves the grief for nights when booze can’t push him into a dreamless sleep.

He’s only got a few beers in him. One of the rules he and Sam came up with: no getting shitfaced in parallel universes. Not enough to flood out all he wishes he had said to, done with his Castiel.

With a start, Dean realizes that both Castiel and other-him are expecting an answer. He sputters, “Of course we do. Plenty of ‘em. But like… two guys, two girls… it’s not the same. They’re still both…”

He searches, trying to find a word less offensive than “normal.” His companions appear to be enjoying his struggle. Is he damned to be an asshole in every universe?

Finally, Castiel takes pity on him. “Those assigned female at birth, in this universe, have different primary sex characteristics than men.”

“Two holes instead of one,” Other-Dean jumps in. “And breasts. I’ve got a bit longer before I get those,” he adds, glancing down at his torso. 

Dean looks too, still not entirely believing what he had been told earlier. “Okay. So like, alpha, omega. That’s…”

“Your secondary sex,” Castiel replies. “You don’t develop it until adolescence. So I was born with a womb, but I can’t bear children.”

“Huh.” Dean nods. “And do you have… y’know…” He meets his doppelganger head on as he squeezes his crotch, watches the eye roll he gets in response.

“A dick? Yeah. And even if it’s shooting blanks, let me tell you, it’s a damn good size for an omega.”

“It is,” Castiel confirms. 

Dean squirms a bit as the two share a gooey, awful couple’s glance. It’s nauseating. And it makes him want something, crave something deep inside. He knows if he pokes too hard on that desire, he’ll fall apart, and he can’t afford to do that so far away from home.

“Betas can both impregnate and be impregnated,” Castiel continues when the moment has passed. “But they don’t have knots, ruts, or heats. You know what those are, at least?”

Dean nods, blushing a bit. He and Sam had made a beeline for the library when those terms kept coming up. 

Sam, right now, is at the motel down the street, continuing to research. See if there’s any info in this universe on where angels go when they die. Normally Dean would be with him but, well. Alternate versions of him don’t always react as curiously as this one had. And he’s always preferred researching on the ground to sitting around on a laptop (that somehow connects to alternate universe wifi? He’s sure as shit not looking that gift horse in the mouth).

They’ve got close to twelve hours left before the spell yanks them back. Dean is free to spend it as he chooses.

“Good luck on your quest, man.” Other-Dean says finally, sincerely. “God. What I wouldn’t do to see Mom again, if I had the chance.”

Dean nods. “I know.”

“What I don’t get is, how’d you find us? I mean, some magic zaps you anywhere in the whole wide world. What are the odds that you end up a mile away from your you from another universe?”

“Pretty damn high, actually. The way it works is like… blood calling to blood. We always end up near me or Sam. Sometimes Cas.” Because Jack had touched Castiel’s grace while he was still in the womb; he could use the spell to help them track Cas’s presence across worlds, but he couldn’t find it beyond death. “Gotta say, you’ve reacted better than most.” A free dinner beats almost getting shot or watching his other self pass out.

They both shrug. “Life’s weird,” Other-Dean says. He looks up and down Dean appraisingly, and for some stupid reason, it takes all that Dean has to not squirm and look away. “We’ve both had worse surprises.”

Quiet for a moment, and the air feels heavy. Dean knows where this could go (he knew the moment he stepped into their house, if not before then, if not the moment he saw the way they look at each other). He just doesn’t know how to get there.

Castiel knows. Of course he does.

He leans forward, eyes intent. “As we said, you’re welcome to spend the night. If you’d rather rejoin your brother at the motel, we’d be happy to give you a ride. But…”

Other-Dean licks his lips as he catches Dean’s eyes. “Can’t say I haven’t thought about this.”

Dean smirks, face contorting into a look he’s made dozens of times in the course of seducing various sexual partners. It should feel natural; it usually does. Tonight it’s an ill-fitting mask over his nervousness. He tries to find something clever to say, but his mind comes up blank.

Again, Castiel comes to the rescue. “You were in love with me. Your version of me. Right?”

He nods, staring at the table. Admitting to men he met hours ago what he only recently admitted to himself.

“But you never told him?”

Another nod. Silence. As if the sexual tension has been dissolved with the realization of what a goddamn coward Dean is.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have told my Cas either. If he hadn’t made the first move.” Other-Dean pauses. “I dunno. It’s almost, like… romantic, isn’t it? That even in different universes, we’re still together? Like the sort of chick flick crap Sam would be all over.”

“We weren’t together, though.” Dean laughs, tight and bitter. “It always felt like we’d have more time. One day I’d be able to tell him.”

He isn’t aware he’s crying until Castiel is kneeling in front of him, wiping away his tears.

“I’m sure he knew,” Cas murmurs. “I knew long before anything was said. It would’ve been hard not to. I’d like to think that my other self wasn’t completely oblivious.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Dean. Oblivious. In some ways, yeah, Cas was. He had gotten much better in the years Dean knew him but unless this weird, universe-crossing journey leads him to where angels go when they die, he’s never going to know how much Cas understood.

“He knew,” Cas repeats, firmer this time. “And he felt the same way. Perhaps I changed universes. But that doesn’t mean that my feelings changed.”

Before Dean can wonder if that’s really the case –before he can convince himself it’s not – Cas kisses him. Gentle at first, his warm, dry lips pushing against Dean’s. Then his tongue traces Dean’s incisors, and Dean finds himself clasping the back of Castiel’s head, bringing him in closer. 

When Castiel pulls away, seconds or minutes or hours later, Dean realizes that he’s crying again; again, it’s only the soft brush of Castiel’s thumbs against his cheeks that alert him to the fact.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and even though his eyes are on him, Dean knows he isn’t the one being addressed. “Take him to the bedroom. I’ll clean up and join you shortly.”

A hand, his hand, on his shoulder. Dean stands, and then finds himself being led through the apartment and to a door, and then his doppelganger is gently shoving him back on the bed and holding him.

Part of Dean wants to resist. More of him wants to surrender, and so he does, pressing his face against his shoulder, clutching the back of his shirt.

“If I lost Cas,” Other-Dean says, “Jesus, if I lost Cas, I don’t know what I’d do. Go crazy or something.”

Dean laughs through his tears and nods as best he can without loosening his grip. “Pretty sure I am. Jumping through universes, and there might not even be an answer in any of them. How to bring an angel back.”

“There is,” and his voice has all the conviction that Dean stopped being able to feel a long time ago. “There is, and you’re going to find it. You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you’re Dean fuckin’ Winchester.” Without warning, Dean is pushed onto his back, straddled by a man simultaneously familiar and foreign. They stare at each other for a moment. 

It’s not exactly like looking in a mirror, but it’s pretty damn close. This version of him has more freckles. There’s something softer in his face. He doesn’t know if that has more to do with hormones and bone structure, or with the fact that this Dean never had to harden himself up to save the world again and again while everyone close to him died. Definitely, his eyes are greener, lighter, brighter.

Still. It’s a face he’d recognize anywhere. All that crap about how the distortion of mirrors made it so that you wouldn’t recognize a clone of yourself? Bullshit.

Apparently his other self thinks so do. “Damn. Always knew I was one fine piece of ass.”

Dean snorts and starts to sit up, trying to kiss him. No time to: a hand on his chest shoves him back down, and then their lips are together. Unlike Cas, he doesn’t bother starting slow. Teeth nip at Dean’s lower lip, and they let out identical moans. 

“Fuck,” Other-Dean mutters. “Knew you’d like that.” 

He mouths at Dean’s jaw, leaving kisses in a line that leads up to his ear. Dean whimpers as he feels teeth on the lobe, a sharp pinch that hurts in just the right way. 

Before he can formulate words to express his feelings, fingers are yanking down the collar of his shirt. Other-Dean bites down hard and sucks just below his throat. Dean rocks up, rutting against his thigh.

Other-Dean pauses, his breath hot against what Dean is sure is a bruise. He dips his head down and kisses gently around the mark.

“Not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t we wait for Cas?”

Other-Dean snorts. “Please. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

He slows anyway. There’s no rush as his hands slide under Dean’s shirt, smoothing their way up his sides with a tenderness that makes Dean want to cry again. And fuck, he can’t do that.

He reaches up and manages, despite the awkward angle, to begin unbuttoning Other-Dean’s oversized flannel (another weird synchrony between universes: his fashion sense is, apparently, unchanging). He stills, his hands ghosting over Dean’s nipples. “You wanna see the goods?”

“You’re about to rip my shirt off. Seems only fair.”

Other-Dean lets out a huff of laughter. When the flannel is all unbuttoned, he shrugs it off and tosses it over the edge of the bed and, in a fluid movement, discards his undershirt as well.

Dean is reaching out before his mind can fully process what he’s seeing. When it catches up, he’s already holding onto his clone’s hips.

“Damn,” he says. His hand moves to touch, but he realizes he doesn’t know if that’s appropriate, and so it hovers midair. “I, uh. I thought you guys might be pulling my chain—”

“Nope.” Other-Dean grabs his hand and presses it against the curve of his stomach. “Twins. Fourteen weeks along.”

“Shit. Wow. I mean, congratulations.” He carefully rubs the swell, still not quite believing despite all evidence to the contrary. “You must be so happy. Both of you.”

“Yeah. You know, Cas cried when I told him. One of the few times I’ve actually seen him do that, and the only time it’s been out of happiness.”

“He’s gonna be a great dad.” 

The truth of the words tugs at his heart. Trying to distract himself from the sudden tightness in his throat, he sits up, pulling his legs free from under his clone. Then he crouches forward, wrapping his hands around Other-Dean’s ass for balance, and begins kissing his torso. He starts on the bump, working outwards from the navel.

It’s not quite enough to block out his thoughts. To forget the tenderness with which Castiel had talked to Claire. Or to erase the image of a printed certificate lying in the drawer of Kelly’s nightstand, announcing that one Castiel Winchester had finished some online doula course (Sam had come into the bedroom to find him holding that, crying silently. He keeps it tucked away in the Impala, not willing to risk losing the one piece of solid evidence he has that Cas considered himself family).

Still, it’s better than doing nothing, and the breathy gasp that Other-Dean lets out when he tongues at his nipple shoots straight to Dean’s dick. He’s not sure how much longer he should wait before he starts trying to get off, and he’s contemplating stripping off his pants when the door opens and Castiel comes in.

Dean halts, meeting Castiel’s eyes. He knows that they all want this, but he’s in the middle of getting off another guy’s… husband? mate? Isn’t it at least a little weird for Cas to be seeing this?

“Don’t stop on my account.”

Dean hears the words and wants to obey, but Cas is loosening his tie, and it’s like every fantasy he’s ever had about to come true, and there’s no way he can focus on the weird and wonderful fact that he literally has the chance to go fuck himself.

“He’s got eyes only for you. Can’t say I blame him.” Other-Dean gently shoves Dean away, so that he’s sitting back on his haunches. “Now come here and kiss me.”

“Gladly.” Cas tosses aside his tie. He joins the two of them on the bed, and Dean loses track of what’s going on: first Cas is kissing his lookalike, then he’s kissing him, then the world disappears in a tangle of lips and limbs. Hands squeeze his ass; he’s mouthing at a hip that he thinks belongs to Other-Dean, but it might be Castiel’s. Someone shoves him down and sucks a bruise on his throat. It doesn’t matter who. He never wants to stop.

His shirt gets ripped off and discarded on the floor. In a rare moment of clarity, Castiel pushes him onto his back, straddling between him and Other-Dean. His lips are on Other-Dean’s chest, biting and licking at breasts that are just beginning to swell. At the same time, he rubs and pinches at Dean’s nipples. Dean arcs back, gasping, and then his lips are on Other-Dean, and he can distantly register Castiel’s moan of approval as they kiss each other desperately before him.

It could go on forever. Dean could never come, could never leave, could stay in this universe and in this bed and in this world of twisting sheets.

“Cas,” Other-Dean says. “Cas, I need—”

“What?” Castiel pauses and Dean comes back to himself, to where he’s lying on his back, between the two men.

“You know what.” Other-Dean licks reddened lips, and god, Dean wants to kiss him again. Wonder if it’s possible that he looks that fucked-out too, when no one has even touched his dick besides a few gropes through his jeans. “I need you.”

“Hmm.” Castiel pauses. He’s running a hand down each of their backs, and the small pain of nails against skin is so good, Dean thinks he could come from that alone if given the chance. “And you, Dean? What is it you need?”

A second chance, he thinks. But he’s been around long enough to know that those don’t exist, and he’s lucky for getting something as close as this.

“I need you inside me.” He wets his lips, suddenly unable to look in Castiel’s eyes. “Need you to fuck me. Come in me. Mark me, make me yours, Cas.”

Cas leans forward and kisses him. He tries to lose himself in the touch.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, and although he can feel the weight of Cas’s eyes on him, he knows that the question isn’t aimed at him. “You have me. Last night, tonight, and every night after. This once, could I—”

“Yes. God, yes. Just make me come too.” Other-Dean rubs at the tent of his jeans. “Or I do it myself.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Castiel pauses a minute, calculated gaze sweeping over them both. “Strip. Both of you.”

Dean obeys, watching the others. He recalls the conversation they had earlier, and yeah, his counterpart is well-endowed (pretty sure he’s bigger, though, and damned if he doesn’t smirk a bit at the thought). 

Other-Dean glances at him and whistles. He runs his hand from Dean’s shoulder down to his hip, making Dean shudder. He reaches out and touches thighs fuller than his own, that are warm and soft where his are hard.

“Beautiful. Both of you.” 

Dean glances up and realizes that Cas is naked too. His cock curves up, touching a line of hair that leads from his navel to his crotch. Pre-come leaks out of the thick head. He’s big, easily bigger than Dean.

The insane thought that he’ll never know what _his_ Castiel looked like pops up out of nowhere. He leans forward to touch around Castiel to distract himself, because no, he’s not going down that path. He’s already cried like a bitch way too much since that night on the lake, and there is no way in hell he’s letting himself ruin the one good thing that’s happened in his recent history.

“No.” Castiel grabs his wrist right before it can meet its mark. “Lie on your stomach.” His hands ghost over Dean’s ass. “Keep this facing me.”

Dean moves to obey, only slightly disappointed that he can’t see the action. He can still hear, though, and feel the creaking bed as Cas pulls Other-Dean so he’s bent over the mattress. A soft thud: Cas going to his knees?

“While I make you come on my tongue, I want you to use your fingers and your slick to prepare Dean. Dean? Does that sound good?”

Holy fuck. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He presses his head against the plush navy comforter and listens to the sound of tongue licking and sucking at skin. He recognizes his own voice in the moans from this other, luckier version of himself. 

When a finger presses against him, the gasps they let out are almost identical. It feels like lube against his skin, but god, the scent is so much better than the shitty artificial strawberry stuff he has back home – something heady, earthy, undertones of almost spice. If he could capture the sensation of an autumn day in a scent, the feeling of cold sunlight on his skin, of smoke in the air from burning leaves and rustling wind among pine trees, it would be something like this.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Other-Dean murmurs as he works his finger in too slowly. “Shit. I don’t know if I was ever this – fuck, Cas!”

He pushes all the way in, probably involuntarily, if that thud was his knees buckling against the bed. Dean arcs up into the touch, not caring.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” he says, not sure if they can actually hear him with his head shoved into the mattress. “But I can take it.”

“I know.” Lips against his shoulder, then trailing down his spine as a second finger joins the first. He stops being aware of the specifics of the moment he feels them press against his prostate; it’s like he’s coming undone and being completed all at once. He throws all of his effort into not coming right then and there, with slick fingers opening him up and the sound of Castiel eating out his double.

“Fuck,” he hears Other-Dean say a few minutes later (minutes? Probably, but hard to say for sure, when he wants more than anything for time to not exist, because that means that this won’t, can’t end). “Cas, don’t stop, don’t—”

The rhythm his three fingers have settled into stutters. Dean twists around just in time to see the perfect circle that his swollen lips form as he comes.

Other-Dean slumps over, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder even as his fingers are still inside him. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Fuck. Just—gimme a minute?”

“Take as long as you need.” Cas rises in an elegant motion that contradicts the way his knees pop. “Though if you could roll over…”

He obeys, pulling out of Dean. It’s not a whimper that leaves his mouth in response; it’s not.

Castiel’s hand on his leg. “Turn over.”

Dean does, and Castiel’s eyes widen as he licks his lips, which are cherry-red and shiny with slick. “God,” says Cas. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” and then Castiel is surging forward and kissing him, and he tastes so fucking good, tastes like earth and like thunder. His fingers plunge into Dean, making him cry out and grind down.

“You _are_ tight.” How long has he wanted to hear that voice say those words, feel those fingers inside him? “Dean, the lube?”

Other-Dean, who’s lying back against the pillows, reaches over into the nightstand drawer and tosses a small bottle to Castiel. His eyes never leave them.

“I’m good,” Dean tries to say, but talking is hard with all his blood in his dick instead of his brain, and he really just needs Castiel inside of him—

“Trust me.” Two fingers inside him this time, scissoring and stretching. Castiel’s eyes never leave his as he opens him up, far too slowly. “Do you want me to knot you?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Then let me do this.”

Dean groans, leaning back against the wall as Castiel works. He’s kind enough to only hit the prostate every few strokes – if he was unrelenting, Dean would’ve come by now. It takes all of his discipline to not jerk off to the feeling of Castiel’s fingers inside of him. He wonders how Cas manages to focus only on his and Other-Dean’s pleasure, when he’s clearly very, very aroused.

Finally, _finally_ , Castiel sits back and studies him. “How do you feel?”

“Ready. So fucking ready, Cas.”

Castiel nods. He leans in and kisses him again, then pulls back and looks at Other-Dean, who’s idly stroking his cock back into hardness.

“Sit up. Pillows behind you, so your back doesn’t get stiff.”

Dean watches, curiosity tempered by how fucking desperate he is to come. Castiel grasps his shoulders and gently steers him until he’s sitting up against Other-Dean, the curve of his stomach slotted against Dean’s back.

“Spread your legs.”

Before Dean can obey, he feels Other-Dean’s ankles hooked around his own, and then his double is doing the job for both of them. His arms are wrapped tight around Dean’s chest. Dean doesn’t have to do anything but lie back and wait.

Not that there’s much waiting to be done.

“Fuck,” Castiel whispers. Dean is so distracted by everything else going on that he almost misses it, almost misses the pang of mourning for how he never heard the expletive from his Castiel.

His thoughts don’t dwell. Cas slots himself between his legs, and then he’s thrusting forward, and Dean is crying out, and Cas is all the way inside him and it’s good, it’s so fucking good—

“Harder,” he gasps, arching back as much as he can, cradled in Other-Dean’s arms. “Fuck me, Cas.”

The sound Cas makes can only be described as a growl. He falls into a steady, fierce rhythm, pushing quicker and deeper than anything Dean has ever had. He’s gone in the feeling, in the friction.

At one point, Cas and Other-Dean are kissing over Dean’s shoulder. At another, they’re both kissing Dean, their lips all over his face, mouthing at the back of his neck, leaving sharp little bites along his jaw.

The burn and the stretch consume him. He’s barely aware of how he’s begging to be touched, isn’t sure whose hand tightens around his cock. A few dry strokes are all it takes; he’s coming and the room disappears in his ecstasy; his mind is empty save for the stars going supernova inside his head, and for a moment he doesn’t even think about his Castiel.

He comes back to gasping breaths from all around, and the sensation of something large filling him in a way he’s never been filled before. He feels Other-Dean hard against him, rutting against him in short jerks.

Castiel presses his forehead against his and sighs out, _“Dean.”_

Heat envelopes him. He lies lax as Castiel comes in a series of warm, long pulses, not sure if he could move or speak if he wants to.

Once more Castiel takes control, sparing him the trouble of worrying. After his dick has stilled inside Dean, he shifts and says, “I’m going to lie us on our sides. I think you’ll find the angle more comfortable. Does that sound good?”

Dean nods, says something that more or less resembles, “Yes.” Castiel laughs a bit and wraps his arms around Dean’s back as he lowers him onto the bed.

He presses his head against Castiel’s shoulder. He’s so warm. He always was, like his grace was a fire burning just beneath his skin.

After a few minutes spent resting like that, Dean comes back to himself. At least, he becomes aware of Cas tracing patterns on his side, of Other-Dean pressed up against him and lazily laying kisses in his hair. And of the… _thing_ inside of him, filling him more than he thought he could be filled.

He grinds down experimentally. Cas gasps and thrusts up. He smirks against his skin.

“Look at you,” Other-Dean says, sounding almost asleep. “Stretched out on his cock. Whatever world, we’re always gonna end up together, Cas. Can’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I’d never want to.”

Other-Dean’s breath evens out as Castiel softens enough to pull out of Dean. They lie there in silence for a moment, noses almost touching. Dean’s heart aches for the intimacy he never had.

Castiel’s thumb runs along his cheekbone. Goddamn it. He’s crying again, for no fucking reason.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Castiel guides him out of bed, showing where to step so as to not wake Other-Dean from what seems to be a blissful sleep. He leads him to a bathroom off of the bedroom.

Dean stands, staring blankly at fluffy blue towels while Castiel runs the sink. A moment later, Castiel’s fingers are on his face, making him look forward. A washcloth, soft as the towels look, comes up to wipe his tears. 

He leans unthinkingly into the touch. Cas’s other hand rubs gentle circles along his arm as the washcloth travels downwards. He wipes the semen drying on Dean’s stomach, and on his back, from where his double had come a second time. 

Castiel rinses the washcloth out after that, and the water seems loud, wrong in the small room. He glances up at Dean before moving between his legs, as if to ask permission to touch him gently when he’s just fucked him raw.

Dean nods anyway, then bites his lip and wills his dick not to harden. Warm swipes between his thighs, then pressing against his sore hole. Even after Castiel has washed away his release, he holds clean corners of the washcloth against the inflamed skin, soothing the burn. 

“Thanks,” Dean says when Cas finally pulls away, though he isn’t entirely sure what he’s expressing his gratitude for. Everything, really.

Castiel glances at him as he cleans himself, quick, efficient strokes showing none of the tenderness he spared for Dean. “For what?”

Dean shrugs and looks down. For giving me the things I was too chickenshit to ask for, he thinks. For giving me a chance.

Cas touches his chin, and he looks up. He tries to memorize the blue of this Castiel’s eyes – he never bothered to do so when he had the chance, back on his earth. He vows to himself that when he gets Cas back, he’ll compare the patterns of their irises.

Cas leans in and kisses him, long and slow. It starts with their lips pressed chastely together, and then he feels Castiel’s tongue tracing his lips and allows him inside. But even then, there’s nothing frantic, no desperate tangle or gnashing teeth. For a moment, they have forever.

Come with me, Dean almost says when they break apart. Come with me and I can stop searching, stop running, pretend you’re him. He learned with Lisa and Ben that if he pretends he’s happy long enough, the imitation becomes nearly indistinguishable from the actual thing.

But of course, he couldn’t stop searching. He and Sam still have to find Mom and pull her back into the right universe ( _bury_ her in the right one, a voice inside him whispers, but he tries not to listen). And then, there’s the matter of him, of his other self sleeping peacefully in the next room. The children he’s bearing. The family he’s giving Castiel. Dean couldn’t take that away from Cas. Maybe more importantly, he couldn’t take that from himself.

He’s spent his whole life giving up what he wants for the needs of other people. If he gives up for himself… there’s a balance in that, in some weird and kind of fucked-up way. Paradoxical cosmic justice. He loses so that he can win.

“Come on,” Castiel says, taking his hand. “Let’s get back to bed.”

And Dean lets himself be led back to bed, lets Castiel fuss with the blankets until he and Other-Dean are properly covered. Cas lies in the middle, somehow holding both of them at once. It is, perhaps, the most comfortable he’s been in years.

Staring at the ceiling, he thinks one last time of his Castiel, trapped in some realm of indescribable horrors reserved for angels when they die. No matter where it is, I’ll find you, he thinks. I’ll bring you back, and we’ll be happy together. Even more gross and romantic than these two. No more distractions, Cas. I’m coming for you.

But there are still a few more hours before he gets pulled from this universe into his home. So for a moment, just a moment, he buries his head against Castiel and lets himself rest.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at lies-unfurl.tumblr.com - talk to me or prompt me
> 
> comments are much appreciated
> 
> (title taken shamelessly from the Beatles)


End file.
